


Show and Tell

by statiictine



Series: The Book of Johanne [1]
Category: The Boy (2016 Bell)
Genre: Gen, show and tell gone truly fucking awry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 07:31:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16828021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/statiictine/pseuds/statiictine
Summary: "Only their ambition switches from the legacies of their nan and grandpa, blue eyes shifting left and right, self-made welts smoothed as they begin about the talk of dolls and walls and a man living inside them."-Johanne remembers a class presentation.





	Show and Tell

There’s an unspoken fragment in Johanne’s past no one really talks about. which is downright and inexplicably  _ strange _ . 

It instead feels like a dream; enveloped in sugarcoats of molasses, too thick to truly remember days long past their consciousness. It reads the jumbled words of a child not far off from them, fumbling off words robotically shoved into the mouth of an eight year old child from generations of regurgitated attempts at petty nosiness. Only their ambition switches from the legacies of their nan and grandpa, blue eyes shifting left and right, self-made welts smoothed as they begin about the talk of dolls and walls and  _ a man living inside them _ . 

They provide proof in the form of childish chicken scratch and tall tales that Johanne’s teacher shrinks under the might of, as if her youth dawned itself necessary again just for the unravelling of things no kid in their right mind would even dare  _ dream _ to fabricate for such an innocently driven presentation.  Classmates lined across parallel seating listen with such prying eyes, imprinting looks of fear and judgement modeled so perfectly from mimicries of their parents, stones at the ready as Johanne wrings their hands, combs through dark locks no similar to  _ his _ at this age, whistles toothless lisp whittled praises to a father never before mentioned, at a hope spot of the occasional cookies and cream, and the long concluded privilege of cuddling up close at night—they giggle, “Daddy’s really hairy!”—when porcelain pale skin and infinite eyes spoke unspeakable, unmentionable sin.

No one sits or plays with Johanne thereafter. And they leave as easily as they were graced by once welcoming arms. Pristine, manicured fingers dig wavy indents into their skin, Mrs. Heelshire a rare shade of pinkish-red with the tightest line where her mouth formed against wrinkled flesh. She spoke with Daddy and they spoke to the doll, but if one listened closely they knew better than to lash out at a  _ doll _ . That was the last time Johanne truly went to school, or anywhere outside for that matter. The walls of the study sufficed tenfold what any  _ real _ school would teach in decade’s time, said Mummy. 

Up until now they wondered if they truly believed in such lies, calmly spoken but dangerously printed purple across pale skin. Were they a prisoner at the whims of house and home, or were they the damned keeper of something far worse?

**Author's Note:**

> found this one sitting in my docs page from a good four months of fermentation. I'm a bit iffy on posting more of this kind of stuff, but we'll see how the rest of the month goes.  
> Comments and kudos appreciated.


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